


Good to You

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Bucky Barnes Feels, Captain America: The First Avenger, Clothing Kink, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 05:32:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: Half-formed visions of war room conversations and sketched out mission plans dissipate from Bucky's thoughts. Steve's in full dress uniform, buttoned up neat and tight into it, but it's only when they get into Steve's room, when Bucky catches another look on his face, that he realizes, yeah, Steve can't stand it anymore, he's tired and wound up.





	Good to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kajmere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kajmere/gifts).



> For kajmere, who is the most encouraging and lovely and who knows what’s good. You deserve better than Friday night flashfic, bb, but I’m happy to write some words for you. <3

Bucky recognizes the footfalls behind his own after only a few steps and slows down, then pauses, though he knows Steve can catch up with him in the space of a few seconds. They walk silently for a few minutes, Steve's hand brushing against the back of Bucky's. There's a soft tang of smoke and mist in the autumn evening, and Bucky thinks, maybe, he could hold off looking at Steve for a couple more minutes. The air here in England is different from home, heavy and damp, and it lends the evening a muted softness, one that rivals the touch of Steve's hand against his, the quiet rise and fall of their matched breathing. 

"Hey," Steve says first in a quiet, low voice. He hooks one finger around Bucky's, waits for Bucky to follow his steps as they veer away from the soldiers' barracks. "D'you want--" 

"--I don't know," Bucky cuts him off. He's fucking tired and, sure, Steve probably is, too, after a whole day spent meeting with every high-ranking officer in the area. If he wants to discuss battle plans, though, Bucky is definitely not his guy for that tonight. He finally turns to Steve, catches the way Steve shrugs his hair out of his eyes before glancing at Bucky with a smile. "Does it involve whiskey or some smokes?" 

"Or me? It might involve me," Steve says, but under his breath this time. The finger hooked around Bucky's tightens and he gives Bucky another sideways, sliding smile. "Might be able to arrange that other stuff, too."

 _Oh._ Right. Right, then, Bucky thinks, and lets himself be led to Steve's small, private room. 

Half-formed visions of war room conversations and sketched out mission plans dissipate from Bucky's thoughts. Steve's in full dress uniform, buttoned up neat and tight into it, but it's only when they get into Steve's room, when Bucky catches another look on his face, that he realizes, yeah, Steve can't fucking stand it anymore, he's tired and wound up. 

"Hey," Bucky says this time, letting his voice take on that same low, rough tone, letting Steve lean in closer as he touches Steve's bottom lip. "You sure look swell in that uniform, Captain Rogers. You kept that on for me all day?" 

"Yeah, you only wish." Steve lets out a soft breath, warm and quick over Bucky's fingers, and then turns to kiss the palm of Bucky's hand. "I might take it off for you, though." 

Yeah, tired and wound up and spoiling for... well, not a fight, that's for sure, and Bucky knows he's going to give Steve what he wants. First things first, though. 

"You get me a drink and a cigarette, and I might just take it off for you. How about that, sweetheart?" 

Steve's breath trembles against Bucky's palm, with this little, sharp gasp, and he turns aside when Bucky moves in closer.

"Yeah? Is that what you want? You want me to be good to you tonight?"

Steve doesn't say anything, doesn't even nod, but Bucky knows what that sharp little gasp means, he knows how to read the tension in Steve's shoulders, that tightness that's equal parts exhaustion, frustration, and arousal. 

"I've been thinking about you all day, Buck." Steve nuzzles his cheek against Bucky's palm, suddenly tender, and then moves in, almost crowds Bucky against the bed, and kisses him slow and full on the mouth. " _All_ day. I can be good to you, too," he adds. 

"You always are," Bucky says. And maybe that's only part true, maybe they aren't always good to each other, but goddamn, there's no man out there better for Bucky than Steve, and if Bucky's going to be good for anyone, it's going to be for Steve. 

He strokes his thumb along the line of Steve's jaw, draws him into another kiss, and draws Steve between his legs after he sits down on Steve's bed. 

"Let me do this first..." Bucky rests his hands at Steve's hips and holds him there, steady and warm, long enough to get another good look at him in that uniform. "I gotta get a snapshot of you in this," he murmurs, "to keep me company on those long, cold nights..." 

That pulls a low, throaty laugh from Steve, and he tugs Bucky's hands up to start unbuttoning his jacket. "You want me to autograph it, too?"

"Sure. 'To Bucky Barnes, love of my life.' Something like that. Make it fancy for me, Stevie." 

Steve laughs again, but their hands brush and the moment stills between them, the evening air cool and soft and still. Steve sighs when Bucky slips both hands into his open jacket, rubbing up and down his sides and drawing Steve in, then down, to kiss him again. 

"You're so tense..." 

"Told you, Buck," Steve murmurs against Bucky's lips, "I've been thinking about you all day. And it's been a really long day." 

He tips his head to the side to kiss the corner of Bucky's mouth, his lips a gentle brush against Bucky's, then to worry at Bucky's lip before dipping into another kiss. He makes this one last as long as he can, both of them half-gasping against each other's mouths, and Bucky feels his heart swell at the thought. This is what's been on Steve's mind all day: him, and the two of them, together, hands and lips and mouths all over each other, Steve's skin warm and flushed beneath Bucky's hands. 

"Okay," Steve breathes, "okay, I need... yeah," he says, and lets Bucky push off his jacket, his fucking _dress uniform jacket,_ regulation fit and heavy, onto the floor. Then his tie, and his shirt, until he's pulling off his own undershirt and his dog-tags clink quiet against his chest. 

He stands away to push his clothes aside and to toe off his shoes and pull off his socks. He doesn't move in close until Bucky's half undressed, too, no matter how Bucky cajoles him with flickering touches over his chest, to the inside of his palms. Instead, he takes Bucky's shirt and jacket, takes up his own clothes to place them on the chair by his dresser, then comes back to Bucky with the whiskey and cigarettes he promised. 

There's something else, though, something that keeps him wound up and on some trembling edge of barely concealed want. Steve hands Bucky his whiskey in a glass, and, after Bucky takes a drink, straddles Bucky's lap to light him a cigarette. 

"No," Steve says when Bucky reaches for the smoke, "first," he adds, then takes a drag from it himself, breathing in smooth and slow. "Get my belt." 

There's tension in that action, too, and Bucky waits, waits for the catch in Steve's breath, the coughing spasm, and when it doesn't come, feels his own chest catch a little with a stuttering sigh. Bucky takes another drink from the glass, then knocks back the rest of the whiskey to feel it burn away the sting of nostalgia. 

He's got Steve, he's got him right here, warm and heavy in his lap, and when Bucky puts the glass aside to move his hands down Steve's chest and stomach, he's got Steve shuddering against his touch. Hands at Steve's waist, Bucky looks up, watches smoke curl silently around Steve's fingertips, and undoes the buckle on his belt, undoes his fly, and slides his hand inside. 

"Jesus, Steve, you're already so... _so_..." Bucky's voice trails off, harsh, then pleased, and his fingers slip against what feels like silk, and the press of Steve's cock, already half-hard. 

" _All day,_ Bucky. The whole damn day." Steve presses in closer, his back arching at the press of Bucky's palm to his hardness, and a soft sigh escapes from someplace down so deep in his chest that Bucky can practically feel it. 

Bucky's not sure he wants to know where Captain America got himself a pair of soft, silky girl's underwear, cream lace edging the palest blue, material already damp where the tip of Steve's dick presses up against it. 

His mind flickers and whites out for a second, thinks of Steve pulling them up over his hips, thinks of Carter, probably, handing them over to Steve, tight ball of silk and lace in her hand and then held even tighter in Steve's, a secret crushed between their warm palms. 

"I need that more than you right now, sweetheart. Give it here." Bucky slides the cigarette from between Steve's fingers, inhales, and lets the smoke out in a steady stream above their heads. Nice, he thinks, almost as nice as the ones he smoked at home when he managed to cobble together a few extra bucks, and more dear here in the middle of the war. 

He's got one hand in Steve's trousers, the other holding the cigarette, and in a few seconds, he's got Steve arching up against him again as he moves his thumb in a slow stroke over Steve's dick. He's more than half-hard by that time, and Bucky can feel his own arousal come in a steady pulse of warmth. 

They sit like that for a while, quiet, murmuring kisses against each other lips and sharing the rest of the cigarette. Steve shivers when Bucky kisses him on the shoulder, straining to keep some of his weight off Bucky's lap. His hips give a little stutter, too, like he's trying so hard not to be too needy too fast, and he presses his face into Bucky's neck when Bucky strokes him again. 

"That's so good, I love when you're like this," Bucky says. 

Steve presses in closer, and he kisses Bucky's neck, and noses up over his ear with another few kisses. "I just want..." 

"What? What d'you want?" 

"... to be close to you..." 

"You say that like I might ever say no to you." 

Steve kisses Bucky again, sweet and soft, and draws away. "I don't mean to." 

"I know." And it's hard to ask for those things, Bucky knows, Bucky _knows_ how hard it still is for Steve to just fucking _ask_ for what he's been wanting. 

He doesn't even have to ask, though Bucky likes hearing the words, and the way arousal strains his voice. When Steve draws away, Bucky leans in to kiss his chest and slide both his hands in Steve's trousers to push them down his hips. 

"Okay, no, _that's_ the snapshot I want," he mutters once Steve's standing in front of him in only those tiny little panties and his dog-tags. 

"You're gonna have to take that picture," Steve says, and flushes all over his neck and chest. 

Bucky strips down to his shorts, makes a move to take them off, then stops when Steve hooks two fingers into the waistband and murmurs 'I like you in these.' He uses the movement to tug Bucky onto the bed and then sprawls himself out on top of Bucky, warm and needy and hard. 

There were moments, after Azzano, after the few nights he spent shivering and sweating and choking on nightmares, where Bucky thought it would never be like this again. He'd never hold Steve again, and he'd never feel Steve's heartbeat against his chest or the stuttery rise and fall of Steve's breath against his own. He'd never see Steve like he used to be: his skin moonlight-pale over the sharp jut of his hipbones and the flat of his stomach, defiant and proud and hard in some scrap of lace or silk. 

But here he is, in a country torn up as much as the two of them are by the war around them, with Steve sprawled on top of him, kissing Bucky just as desperately defiant as he did at home, his cock pressed into the angle of Bucky's hip, the silk of his panties making it slide desperate and slick against Bucky's shorts. 

So, because he's managed to hold onto this one thing between him and Steve, bigger than love and war and memory, he's going to hold onto it as long as he can. Bucky's going to draw this moment out between the two of them tonight as long as he can, too. He's going to put his hands and mouth all over Steve, and he's going to get him needy and messy before he lets Steve come, and he's going to stretch out his own climax as long as he can, until after Steve's done, until Steve's almost too much of a wreck to get his mouth around Bucky. 

He's going to make it last, though; he's going to get both hands around Steve's tight little ass, going to pull him in really close and kiss him and _kiss him_ and pull him into that small, secret space between the two of them, the one that's never, ever changing.

*

Whiskey and smokes and silk are rare things these days, but so is being able to have Steve, relaxed and boneless-tired on top of him, smiling into Bucky's shoulder when he strokes Steve's side. He darts the tip of his tongue out when Bucky offers him some of the whiskey he's sloshed into the glass, his eyes lazy and sweet when they look up at Bucky.

"You drink it," Steve says, "and then come kiss me again." 

"Bossy," Bucky replies, but he does that, he drinks back the whiskey, slowly this time, and then leans down into the slow, open-mouthed kisses Steve offers him. He uses the glass to knock ashes into after he's done and lights another cigarette, exhaling the smoke away from Steve out of habit. 

"Only so I can take care of you, Buck," Steve murmurs into the curve of Bucky's neck.


End file.
